The collapse of my haunted illusions began the night of my fall into the dark chasm of my fears, where I was tormented by relentless thorns and shadows that pierced my heart until its light slowly faded.
My soul was burning fiercely, and I could hear the screams of my dreams, alive and breathing, willing to get the last essence of my foolishness. I bore tormented scars cherishing my grief and sorrow. All in the while of my transformation and decay.
I was reborn and perished oftentimes, as long as my heart was struck by the many thunders of madness and self-deception. Everything could have obliterated me in the valley of despair and grief.
I was bound to the chains of the deserted version of myself and obscure presages. The fate surrendered at the sight of the tower of my solitude, where I was the only captive in the presence of wraiths made of tragic illusions.
My tragedy was an everlasting and bright gift, like a hidden treasure. I knew not what could be expected beyond the several doors that kept me locked up. I could have cried all night long and no phantom would have heard me.
My tears were pearls descended on my neck like graceful raindrops, glimmering on my skin. While obsessive fears were swallowing my soul, and as much as I might run, they hunted me wherever I wandered during my endless bleak nights.
Loneliness was retaining me as a creature of its own realm. And the steadiness of silence besieged my delusional abode. My heart, subdued in sorrow, cast faint shadows that traced sacred shapes upon the frigid soil.
Elisabetta Esther
